


Another Day

by Zither



Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Bickering, Birthday, Cake, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:30:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zither/pseuds/Zither
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark's birthday has arrived, and Durandal wants to help him celebrate it.</p><p>With no ulterior motives whatsoever, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hokuto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokuto/gifts).



> So I couldn't get the idea of security officer/Durandal birthday!fic out of my head AND THEN. It... would've been much more appropriate if I could have posted it AS a birthday fic, but I hope you enjoy this ultra-belated bit of crackiness anyway!

Mark woke to find himself at the centre of a S’pht huddle.

His fingers didn’t twitch toward a nonexistent weapon, which was a small point of pride. A very small point, because what he did instead was yelp and start like some Earth kid who’d just flipped over a rock and found a colony of spiders underneath. He felt bad about it in the next second or so, but there was no taking that reflexive response back.

“Every time,” Durandal began, and the groan that escaped Mark’s mouth was loud enough to drown out internal comms for a moment. When he lifted his head from his hands, Durandal continued as if there had been no interruption. “I think I’ve heard and catalogued all the sounds you make when full sentences are just a little too difficult, you go and prove me wrong. What should I file that one under? Gasping? Squealing?”

“How about _sick of,_ heading _your shit?”_ Almost without meaning to, he glanced through the crowd in search of F'tha. They were absent. There went his best chance of figuring out what the hell was up without hurting even more feelings or getting his intellect dragged through the mud. In the end, he settled for a neutral, “Something the matter?”

Okay, he acknowledged, as cloaks began to rustle: more awkward than neutral. It would have to do.

“We come to celebrate you,” said Mn'rhi, stepping into the breach before diplomatic relations could break down. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought they sounded a little reproachful. “Today is a day of matching pieces together.”

Durandal's teasing be damned; there was no way Mark could come up with a coherent response for that one. “Huh? I mean... sorry?”

A long silence. F'tha was still nowhere to be seen. Then: “It's your birthday,” Durandal filled in, as smug as if he'd set the date himself.

 _Huh. Again._ “You never remembered my birthday before.” I _never remembered my birthday before,_ he almost said. On second thought, that was kind of sad. Hadn't he had parties, back when he was younger? He must have done. Martian families went in for birthday celebrations as much as anyone else.

“We weren't married before.” Durandal's voice cut his thoughts right down the middle. “What kind of husband forgets his own [gross term of endearment]'s birthday?”

“You're not even trying anymore. I can't believe you actually said [gross term of endearment].” There had been parties. On his sixth birthday, his mother – or his father? - had hoisted him up on the bar to try a single sip of malt brew. He hadn't liked it much. Scratch that, he'd hated it; the sharp, yeasty flavour had made him stick his tongue out in disgust. “At least call me 'shnookie-pie' or something.”

“I'll keep it in mind, sweat-heart.” There were no mirrors in Tfear's stateroom, but Mark would have bet his current expression was pretty close to the one he'd worn upon getting his first taste of beer. Durandal laughed, confirming the guess, and continued: “Never let it be said that I don't listen to you.”

Mn'rhi's entire body rippled. For an awful moment, Mark thought they were on the verge of tears. No - they were just moving aside to open the way for F'tha, who was making a valiant effort to conceal some sort of cake in the folds of their cloak. From the way they were cradling it, it might have been a precious piece of Jjaro technology. Knowing Durandal, there was no reason it couldn't be both.

“I tried to get them to sing,” Durandal said, “but we didn't have enough tenors for a proper arrangement. You're welcome.”

“Happy birthday, Mark,” F'tha added, with the sort of careful pronunciation that spoke to hours of practice. All the surrounding S'pht murmured in agreement, and Mn'rhi gave a suspicious little flutter. If Mark was honest with himself, he had to admit it felt sort of nice to have the day recognised and… no, he wasn't about to get emotional over this. Not even close. Maybe he was just allergic to whatever alien ingredients Durandal had told them to put in the cake.

Durandal, who hadn't spoken since before F'tha had. Durandal, who was letting a perfect opportunity to make fun of him swirl away down the drain right this second. That could only mean one thing. “What's the catch?”

“I wouldn't call it a catch.” To his minor credit, Durandal's tone had gone from _smug and self-assured_ to _persuasive (but you still don't have a choice)_. “You share your birthday with Attentive Captain Chfior and all thirteen of her hatch-sisters. Unfortunately for them, they've chosen to celebrate their special day by holing up in a ruin on the planet we're heading towards and attempting to establish a garrison.” A pause, long enough that Mark could brace himself for incoming bad jokes. “How does that old and incredibly banal saying go? 'A party shared is a party halved'?”

Mark gave the cake a wistful look. It _did_ smell good, never mind what unholy not-baking process it had come out of. “You aren't even gonna let me try a piece first, are you.”

“I’m sure your birthday twins will have plenty of Pfhor nectar to share.”

Halfway through raising his hand to direct a one-fingered salute at the overhead, Mark thought better of it. The S’pht hadn’t shown any inclination to start rounding out their already colourful vocabulary with gestures, but that was no reason to assume they wouldn't. “Don't eat it all while I'm gone.”

“Consider it your incentive to hurry back.”

Weird. That one had almost sounded sincere. _Sure, sweetie, I'll be home right after all the other parties I've got lined up today,_ Mark almost said – but he let it go. He could afford to, just this once.

After the teleporter set him down on watery and foul-smelling ground, it occurred to him that he had no idea how old he was.

Oh, well. Durandal had forgotten the candles, anyway.

 


End file.
